Widows Ministry

We awoke early that peaceful Saturday morning. Snow was moving into the area. We had an appointment to see a digital mini grand piano for our living room. Butfive minutes after we had purchased the new piano, Tom fell dead in the seller’s front yard. “Oh Jesus, I speak life,” was my heart’s cry in the ambulance as paramedics tried in vain to revive him. Before this moment, I thought I knew the darkest depths of grief. We had survived a decade of failed fertility treatments – and were actually thriving in its wake. We were helping others, using our giftings and talents for the Kingdom, doing all the good things until… .

​Flashbacks haunted me in the sleepless early morning hours after Tom’s death. I clutched his Bible and sobbed into an unwashed t-shirt that held his smell. But my mind went back to how Tom would pray as we navigated the dark days of fertility, “Lord, thank you for trusting us with this trial. Let us be found faithful to the things of You.” After every failed fertility attempt, he found a voice ofgratitude and a reason to give thanks. And as I lay in bed that night, I thanked the Lord for His goodness throughout my life; but I also prayed, “I can’t bear this. You have to let me die. I can’t face this without Him. Please let me die.” But God looked beyond my desperate words and chose to trust me with an even deeper trial.

  ​Part of the success of surviving the valley of the shadow of death is finding gratitude along the journey in all circumstances. This is not my opinion; it’s found in 1 Thessalonians 5:18. And reflecting on this widowed journey through lenses of gratitude, I see God-given gifts along the way.

​The first is the gift of preparation leading up to Tom’s homegoing. As our church concluded quarterly prayer and fasting the first Wednesday night of 2019,God impressed a dear friend to fast and pray for Tom and me the following week. “Bring me a prayer list on Sunday.” Gina said. Over the next few days I tried to prepare a list but every time I wrote something, God would say “Is that your will or mine?” I would delete the words. Unable to construct a prayer list, I lamented to Tom. He casually replied, “Tell Gina to pray for the will of God; it’s all that matters.” So I did, having not a clue my husband would pass unexpectedly seven days later.

​Another gift of preparation was Pastor Mitchell Bland’s midweek Bible lesson three days before the fateful day. After Tom’s death, I found his notes from that service (paraphrased):

“When you pray His word, you know you’re in His will.  God gave his promise and oath. He cannot lie. He has given us a refuge so we can have confidence in the hope that lies before us. That hope is a trustworthy anchor for our souls; it will lead us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary. Thisanchor is made to hold no matter how the wind blows. We are anchored to God and no storm or enemy can keep us from him. We can stand on the Word. Don’t forget the secret place with God. Get ahold of Him. And get ahold of His promises.His promises cannot fail but it is possible God will not give me what I want. But I trust God. My faith stands in God; I trust His theprocess. He knows the bigger picture. I will pray with boldness and faith, but also with humility and submission. Hebrews 10 tells us to hold fast because He is faithful to that which He promised. Luke 7:23 reminds us that “blessed is he that is not offended in me.” God will do what He wants and we are blessed if we simply trust His process. Trials train us to stand. Battles teach us how to fight. He won’t leave us in the battle. He’s training us for something bigger. We choose if we will worship or whine. Walk forward in faith. 

​That all sounded powerful and wonderful, but over time this journey seemed to strip me of any beauty. I poured this out to God one night and He said,“I finally have you where I want you. I can only fully shine through you when there’s nothing left of you.” Laying in the bedroom floor that night, exhausted from crying and praying, I raised my hands and said, “Please don’t waste this pain. Use me for Your glory.” And an invisible warm blanket settled upon me and I slept soundly on the hardwood floor next to the bed until daybreak.

​The widowed experience keeps me outside of my comfort zone but that’s where God seems to do best work. It would be easy to look back and focus on the losses, but I cannot deny the Unseen Hand along the journey. And while I’m thankful for the gift of preparation, there are gifts for which to give thanks.

​The gift of pain has intensified sensitivity to those hurting around me. After the late night surrender on the hardwood floor, God began to open doors for me to minister to others that walk the widowed road. Some are Apostolic; some are not, but I have taken my wounded heart to coffee shops and breakfast houses to listen to others brokenness. And after every encounter I feel God’s healing balm on my own heart. He has proven as we pour from the broken place, He will pour back into us.

​The gift of presence has drawn me closer to God in ways never imagined. I’ve fallen asleep feeling the presence of God and been awakened a few hours later speaking in tongues with the presence of the Lord so strong in the room. Other times I’ve lay in the darkness praying and worshiping in tongues only to wake up hours later as light peeked through the windows, and I realized as I worshipped, I fell into a deep sleep. I’ve often sat down at the piano Tom purchased mere minutes before he died, and I will pour out a praise to God. He meets me there in the most beautiful way. I am so thankful for the gift of His presence.

​Then there’s the gift of process that refines me, teaching me to be patient and trust God. Sometimes we validate our relationship with Him based on our doing, but if we submit to His process it’s often in our stillness that He is most pleased. He knows the giftings and talents that He placed of me. But He’s also aware of my humanity that wants to rise up and take things in its own hands and try to prove my worth by how good I can do something. He created the universe with his spoken Word. Who am I to think that even the greatest thing that I am capable of would impress Him? He simply wants me to sit at His feet and commune with Him. Oh that I may be still in His presence and be in awe of Who He is. Oh that I may know Him! He will not give His glory to another, and in the process of me submitting to His will and yielding to His plan only then does He get all glory – and in that process I become more like Him. I’m so thankful for the gift of process.

​And lastly, the gift of promise moves me forward and helps me encourage others that the Word promises God is good and faithful in all things. If we can’t find a strong foundation in the forever settled word of God, then why are we even doing what we’re doing? But the promises I find in His Word are sure and He has proven they will stand the test of time. We can rest in that assurance.

​Along the road of brokenness there are gifts to be found if we will put on the attitude of gratitude and look for them. And so I close with the praise that Tom offered in our home years ago: “Lord, thank you for trusting me with this trial. May I always be found faithful to the things of You.” But I also declare as I did in the ambulance, “Oh Jesus. I speak life.” Because He doesn’t break us to leave us in that state; but rather He breaks us to mold us into what is needed for the next season. And oh what beauty He creates from the broken things that are mixed with gratitude.

KELLY MIDDLETON
UPCI Widows Ministry Director | Ladies Ministries | UPCI
United Pentecostal Foundation Administrator | The Stewardship Group | UPCI

Published in Pentecostal Life December 2024

For most of the service Dianne had cried. Not a “shoulders heaving, ugly face wailing” kind of cry, rather a “shallow breathing, clinched jaw, trying to hold it in while the pain bubbles upward and out the eye sockets” kind of cry. The dismissal announcement was made, and the congregants went about their normal post-church service routine. But Dianne remained frozen in her seat, gripping a shredded tissue. It had been only three months; the loss of her husband was still raw. But the friends they once associated closely with had distanced themselves. She felt invisible amid the joyous chatter from the pews near her. She and Martin had been married in this chapel four decades prior. Did anyone even remember he ever existed?

“I, uh, I um, I don’t really know what to say,” the words cracked as they filled the air. Turning toward the stuttering voice, she stared into the eyes of a young man she barely knew.  He glanced away and then again met her gaze, “I don’t have a clue how you feel,” he continued, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I just want you to know I pray for you every single day. I miss Mister Martin handing out bulletins at the door.”Unable to speak through the tears, she nodded to acknowledge the remarks. After amoment of silence, he patted her shoulder. “And your tears don’t bother me,” he said as he turned and walked away. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it momentarily before releasing it to reach for another tissue.

Dianne shared this story with me over coffee two years later. “If I could point to the moment my heart began to heal, it was that moment. And it wasn’t from a fellow parishioner that Martin and I had known for years. It came a teenager.” Someone had noticed her tears, acknowledged her loss, and validated her grief. Oh the power of those words from an unexpected source.

​Why does grief make us uncomfortable? Perhaps we as Christians sometimes view the outcome of death after illness or accident as a lack of faith or unanswered prayer. After all, we fasted, prayed, quoted all the right verses, and yet the funeral happened. But the same infallible Word that mentions moved mountains also says much about grief and mourning. Yes, sometimes mountains move. But sometimes loss occurs. Solomon listed death, tearing down, weeping, and mourning among the seasons of life. (See Ecclesiastes 3:1–6.) It’s a normal occurrence. Maybe it’s time we learn to embrace it. If you’ve ever experienced deep loss you know the weight it brings. Could bearing one another’s burden include sitting with someone in their grief? I think yes.

​“But I don’t know what to say.” We’ve all thought it, But may a lesson be learned from the young man who approached Dianne. While his awkwardness was evident, something propelled him beyond the comfort zone to the point of Dianne’s need. Was it just compassion or empathy? Possibly. But it could have been a simple trust in God. None of us know why cancer is miraculously eradicated in one while another bears it until death. Why does a speeding car avoid another’s loved one while your family member perishes in an accident? We don’t know, and it’s ok to admit that. Some things cannot be understood on this side of the dark glass of eternity. But we do know that all things work for our good (Romans 8:28) and the work God started in us will be completed (Philippians 1:6). And even when it doesn’t feel good or make sense, we can rest assured that if we fully trust God and acknowledge Him in all our ways, He will direct us (Proverbs 3:5–6). What relief comes when we simply trust God with every outcome in our lives as well as those around us.

​So the next time you notice a friend in mourning, acknowledge the grief. Offer a tissue. If they need to talk, listen. If they don’t, just be present. Invite them to coffee or dinner. Invite them again after a few weeks or months, after all, the grieving process can be lengthy.  But whatever steps you take remember Solomon’s words about life’s season. Then relax, push past the uncomfortable, and example the ultimate Comforter. After all, it’s just grief – and that’s a normal part of life.

KELLY MIDDLETON

United Pentecostal Foundation Administrator | The Stewardship Group | UPCI
UPCI Widows Ministry Director | Ladies Ministries | UPCI

Published in Pentecostal Life March 2024

Settling into my seat, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the pain within my chest. Somewhere over the Atlantic on the flight from Munich to Raleigh, North Carolina, it had hit my heart afresh that my late husband would not be waiting at the airport when my flight arrived in Saint Louis. Yes, it had been one hundred and fifty sixdays since he drew his last breath, but grief triggers are unpredictable – and this one was a doozy.

​Then came Yvonne. Boarding at the last minute on the Raleigh to Saint Louis flight, she took the last empty seat on the plane –  left side, back row window, next to me.

​“Are you from Raleigh?” Her voice broke through the invisible storm within me.

​“No. Saint Louis.” My answer was short. It’s difficult to be warm and welcoming when holding back the floodgates of triggered grief. Her soft, gentle attempts at conversation continued until it seemed only appropriate to explain my short, monotone responses.

​“I’m so sorry and do not mean to be rude. I’m a new widow and struggling at the moment.”

​“Ooooooh,” the word flowed out of her petite frame like a big sigh of relief. “You’re why I missed my flight yesterday.”

​God’s presence settled in around us as Yvonne shared a detailed account of the past 24 hours leading up to taking the seat next to me. And as the window view changed from buildings and concrete to billowy clouds, this fellow widow of seven years after 40+ years of marriage, shared wisdom from her own journey. Tears escaped my shuttered eyelids as I sat silently listening, arms folded across my chest as if to cradle my aching heart. Yvonne understood this road like few of my close friends could. It was as if she knew my thoughts without me uttering word. She felt it, wasn’t intimidated by it. She had stared it in the face herself – and had survived. By the time the plane touched down in Saint Louis, that widow of a denominational minister had shared words of encouragement and Bible verses to back up every declaration.

​I would love to say my grief journey took a huge step forward that day never to recess into pain again. But wheeling my luggage out of the terminal and toward the awaiting car, the reality of my husband’s absence hit afresh and I wept uncontrollably. Did this negate the uplifting narrative Yvonne had spoken? Emphatically, no. It was simply another “first” on the journey of widowhood. However, I can only imagine how much more difficult that day would have been without Yvonne’s voice of experience. Her words and Bible references echoed in my thoughts that evening as I emptied the suitcases:

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​The encounter with Yvonne motivated me to reevaluate my own journey. How different our meeting could have been if she had not chosen to heal in a healthy fashion seven years earlier when she became widowed. But because she had healed properly, she could effectively minister to a stranger even after her own travel plans had been interrupted the previous day.

​My goal with UPCI Widows Ministry is to encourage and empower others to become an Yvonne. While the road of widowhood is difficult, it should not render us ineffective in God’s kingdom. Peter reminds us that everyone has received a gift and we are to use that gift in servitude of others. (See 1 Peter 4:10.) So what gift rests in your hands today? Does it feel insignificant or broken? That’s okay. If God can create a human body from dust, just imagine what He can do with your submitted gift. And besides, there just may be a wounded soul at the coffeeshop or in the produce section that needs what you have to offer. Be an Yvonne to that wounded soul, because Yvonne seemed a whole lot like Jesus to me.

KELLY MIDDLETON

United Pentecostal Foundation Administrator | The Stewardship Group | UPCI
UPCI Widows Ministry Director | Ladies Ministries | UPCI

Published in Pentecostal Life June 2023